She smiled. “Yes, I do.”
“Well, I do too, Sempronia. It’s a pleasure for me to have such a good student.”
She bowed her head at the compliment, then looked up at me. “You must know Marcus Claudius, my betrothed. Can you tell me what he’s like?”
“Marcus is my best friend. He’s handsome and brave, a fine soldier. You could hardly find a better man.”
“Does he know these things you do?”
“I’m his tutor. I teach him the same things I’m teaching you. In fact, he suggested I tutor you. He wants his wife to know geometry and Greek science.”
“It’s nice he should say that. I could like a man who thinks that way. I look forward to meeting him. What’s our lesson for today?”
“We’re way ahead of where I expected to be. With so much time before our next lesson, I want to try something a little more challenging.”
Sempronia’s eyes lit.
“Have you heard of Pythagoras?”
She shook her head.
“Very well. I’m going to show you what I consider the most important geometric principle of all. Maybe the most valuable piece of knowledge that there is. The Pythagorean Theorem—A squared plus B squared equals C squared.”
“The Pythagorean Theorem,” she repeated.
“The Pythagorean Theorem!” squawked Ajax in his cage. We both laughed. Dora was busy weeding, but she quickly got up to cover the cage. Ajax squawked again, “A squared plus B squared!” before Dora had the cover in place. All of us, even Dora, laughed this time.
“We have talked about perpendicular lines,” I said, “and right angles.”
“Angles of ninety degrees.”
“Exactly. So a triangle that has one interior angle equal to ninety degrees is called a right triangle.”
Sempronia nodded.
“The Greek Pythagoras discovered an important feature of all right triangles. It included an application of the numbers. You said you can add and subtract. How about multiply? Is that something you can do?”
Sempronia hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
“How much is two twos?”
“That’s two plus two. Four.”
“What about three twos?”
“Two plus two plus two is six.”
“That’s the same as saying two multiplied by three. Three twos equal six.”
Sempronia nodded slowly.
“What would three multiplied by three be?”
She thought a moment. “Nine.”
“Multiplication is something you can work on while I’m gone, but for now, we’ll keep it simple. When you say that you are squaring a number, that means multiplying it by itself. Two twos, three threes, four fours, and so on. What do you get by squaring five?”
Sempronia thought a moment. I handed her the wax pad. She made a few marks on the pad, looked up at me, and said, “Twenty-five.”
“Very good. Back to Pythagoras. He proved that for any right triangle, the sum of the squares of the lengths of the two shorter sides is equal to the square of the length of the longest side—the side opposite the right angle—which is called the hypotenuse. A2+B2=C2.” I drew a right triangle on the wax pad and labeled the hypotenuse as C. Sempronia nodded.
“Let’s take a very common right triangle. One with sides of three, four, and five.” I marked those lengths on the triangle I had drawn. “If you square three and four and add them together what do you get?”
Sempronia did the math on the pad and said, “That’s nine plus sixteen. Twenty-five.”
“If the three-four-five triangle is a right triangle, the square of the longest side, five, should be equal to twenty-five.”
“And it is,” she said.
“What happens if we double the lengths of all the sides? Is it still a right triangle?”
Sempronia went through the calculations. “So that would be six squared, which is thirty-six, plus eight squared, which is sixty-four—for a total of one hundred. The hypotenuse,” she said slowly, “would be ten, and ten squared is—yes, one hundred. It’s a right triangle!”
“Excellent.” I couldn’t believe it, she had nearly caught up with what I was teaching Marcus.
“What makes this so important?”
“It allows men to construct buildings that stand up straight. The right angle is critical to the stability of a building. Can you imagine why that might be true?”
Sempronia nodded. “I think so.”
“Have you heard of the pyramids in Egypt?”
“My father has seen them. He told me they were one of the seven wonders of the world.”
“Exactly, and the key to making them was knowledge of the right angle—and the three-four-five triangle.”
I spent the rest of the lesson teaching Sempronia the proof of Pythagoras’ theorem. It stretched her limits a bit, but her ability to grasp the ideas was remarkable, and only made me wish more that she wasn’t promised to Marcus. But what good was that? If not Marcus, she would have been promised to someone else, certainly not me.
We both became aware of footsteps coming from the front of the house. Our time had run out.
“I will miss you,” said Sempronia suddenly before the women had reached the garden.
“I will miss you also,” I said, feeling much more than that. “I will leave you some homework—so you won’t forget me. I want you to make a multiplication table.”
As I explained how to do this, Portia came into the garden, followed by Fulvia. “Time to finish the lesson, Timon,” said Portia.
I looked up in time to see Fulvia pass from the shaded atrium into the garden. With the sunlight at her back, the profile of her figure showed through her silk stola. It matched the silhouette that I had seen the night of the second reading. Could it be that the woman who had relayed Paculla’s reading to me had been Fulvia?
“Portia told me that Timon is leaving for Venusia in two days,” said Fulvia as she came up to us on the bench. “It will be several months, Sempronia, before your next lesson.”
I couldn’t deny what seemed so impossible. Though not a whisper, Fulvia’s voice was the same one that had said go to the Community of Miracles to me at the second reading. I turned away from the women to gather up my wax pad and stylus, fearful my realization would show on my face—and thinking how terrible it would be if Sempronia should ever find out. How could I have been such a fool to take part in those horrible readings?
Dora ushered Portia and me back through the house. Then we were out on the street where Edeco was waiting.
I always tried to show Edeco respect. Because his tribe had been conquered under his leadership, he accepted his fate as a slave, but he remained a proud man of elevated nobility and very few words. Even Archimedes seemed loquacious compared to the brokenEdantani king. As we proceeded across Rome, he walked behind Portia and me as though he were invisible.
While my thoughts spun around the ramifications of my night alone with Fulvia, Portia guided us toward the forum. It was clear before we got there that something was going on. The crowd spilled out beyond the forum floor into the adjoining streets. With Edeco leading the way, we pushed in close enough to see that the trial of the two violated virgins was taking place on the porch of the Temple of Vesta.
The pontifex maximus presided over the trial. To his right stood Messalina, acting as prosecutor for the state. Beside her was the slave Manius, her chief witness. The two Vestals, Aemilia and Licinia, stood two steps below on the left with the young outspoken lawyer Cato, who had probably taken the case to make a name for himself.
Licinius, wearing his toga so that part of it draped over his head, asked Messalina to state the case. The hubbub in the crowd quieted.
“Seven days ago, this man,” Messalina motioned to Manius, “a slave in the Vestal Palace, found a bloody gown hidden in the room of the Vestal sister Aemilia. Manius, tell the court what happened after that.”
Manius stepped forward. “I showed the gown to Aemilia. She imm
ediately burst into tears and confided to me that she’d been raped. She pleaded with me not to tell the vestalis maxima. But it was my duty to make an immediate report.”
“I went directly to Aemilia after hearing from this slave,” Messalina said. “She told me an intruder had entered the palace in the middle of the night four days earlier. He came into her room and forced himself on her. She said she hid the bloody gown because of the humiliation she felt. When I asked her about the intruder, she said it was too dark and she didn’t get a good look at his face.
“The report of an intruder,” she continued, “meant that all the Vestals had been at risk. The next day I conducted a medical exam on each of them. Vestal Licinia also proved not to be a virgin. Licinia burst into tears and said that she had been raped the same night as Aemilia.
“I have inspected both of these women further. I have found no bruises on their bodies. No signs of a forced act. I believe that these two women are lying. Whoever entered the palace that night certainly did take their virginity, but it was not against their will. I have asked them repeatedly to reveal the identity of the man and neither will say a word. The state seeks the execution of these Vestals and the identity of their defiler.”
The huge crowd in the forum let go with a variety of catcalls, ridiculing the two young women.
Tall, pale Licinius raised his hand for quiet, then turned to Cato. “How does the defense answer to these charges?”
“Vestalis Maxima,” said Cato, “did you find any evidence of a break-in at the palace? Did anyone witness the intruder other than the defendants?”
“No. If there were an intruder, he came in with assistance from within. I believe he was let in.”
“Is there any reason, other than your immediate suspicions, to suspect Aemilia and Licinia of loose morals?”
“Yes,” said Messalina. “I believe Manius can attest to that.”
Cato asked Manius to speak.
“In the time after I showed the gown to Aemilia and before I told the vestalis maxima of Aemilia’s confession, Aemilia told Licinia about my discovery. Licinia found me and offered herself to me in exchange for my silence. I admit to being tempted by Licinia, but when she wasn’t forthcoming, and avoided me the next day, I reported the incident.”
The entire forum groaned at this admission. Portia turned to me and shook her head. “What were they thinking?”
“Manius,” queried Cato, “you initially said you went to the vestalis maxima immediately after hearing Aemilia’s confession, but your testimony suggests it was at least a day later. I don’t believe you’ve been entirely truthful.” He turned to his audience. “I don’t believe we can trust this man’s testimony.”
Messalina interrupted. “But the women are no longer virgins, regardless of Manius’ shortage of character. They have been violated by someone. That we know for certain.”
Licinius agreed.
Cato knew this line of questioning was a dead end. He looked at the people in the forum, then to his clients. “Licinia, Aemilia, you have heard the case against you,” he said theatrically. “Your lives hang in the balance. Perhaps the court will grant you mercy if you confess your complicity and reveal the name of the violator—if this is, in fact, what happened.”
Neither woman said a word. Aemilia began to sob.
Cato asked them again.
Licinia shouted at the crowd, “We conspired with no one. There was an intruder!”
The crowd came back with a shower of abuse against the two women. Several plums and apples aimed at the women splattered on the temple stairs.
Cato waited for the crowd to quiet before going on. “All that we’ve been told today suggests that there was no intruder, that someone was given access to the palace. Aemilia and Licinia, I ask you again, with one last appeal for leniency, who was your violator?”
Both women sank to their knees crying and refused to say a word. I couldn’t tell if the women were hiding something or not, but the majority of those in the forum that afternoon seemed to have their minds made up and continued with the catcalls and insults. As the two young women huddled together for protection from more thrown fruit, a chant built within the crowd, calling for their execution.
Cato withdrew a small whip from his toga, snapped its three long cords in the air, and turned to the pontifex maximus. “If these women are guilty, at the very least they will have earned fifty lashes. What if I begin now? With the understanding that I will stop when the violator’s name is revealed.”
The crowd erupted with support for immediate flogging. Licinius and Cornelius Scipio were allies on the progressive side of the Senate. Spectacle justice was not Licinius’ way. But the mob in the forum demanded it, screaming and yelling irresistibly for the whip.
Licinius looked to Messalina. She gave him the slightest nod. “Very well, Cato,” said the pontifex. “Proceed. But know that they are facing execution with or without the flogging.”
Cato turned to the huge crowd, the whip held at his side. “I would guess that there’s someone in the forum right now who can save the backs of these women by coming forward. No whip needs to snap if the violator can be man enough to announce himself.” Cato surveyed his audience. “Anyone? Anyone with a shred of honor?”
Whispers and muttering passed through the crowd, but no one came forward. A chorus of loud voices urged Cato on.
Cato shook his head, then bent down and dramatically ripped the white gowns from the backs of the two women. “No one?” he shouted at the top of his lungs, while the two women tried to cover themselves and sobbed. “No one has the courage to admit to this crime?”
No one came forward. The crowd began to chant for the whip. Cato looked to Licinius, then reached back and with all his might struck Aemilia. She screamed with the crack of the whip. Her sobbing became wailing. Cato raised the whip again and struck Licinia. She shrieked at the impact of the cords, but held back her tears.
“Does that help you remember the violator’s name?” Cato shouted, gaining passion himself with each snap of the whip. “Does that loosen your tongues?”
Neither woman said a word. Cato proceeded to whip them again, one then the other, six, seven, eight times until the flesh on their backs began to strip away.
As Cato reached back with the whip set to strike Aemilia again, now curled into a ball on the stone stairs, her back streaked with blood, a voice shouted, “It was I.”
A young man pushed out of the crowd and ran toward the temple.
“And I,” confessed another young man, also forcing his way to the front.
Aemilia sat up and screamed, “No, Brother, no.”
The men ran up the temple steps and embraced the two young women. Cato stood over them, the whip at his side, as though he were some kind of hero.
As the story unfolded, the two men were the Vestals’ brothers. The women had conspired to let their brothers into the palace for a tryst—Aemilia with Licinia’s brother, Licinia with Aemilia’s brother. The two men were flogged fifty times there in the forum by a state guard, then dragged out of the city and exiled from Rome for life. Aemilia and Licinia were buried alive in the cattle market the next morning.
PART IV
THE SECOND CAMPAIGN
“O strange! What will you do with this man who neither suffers us to rest when he is a victor, nor rests himself when he is overcome. We shall have, it seems, perpetually to fight with him; as in good success his confidence, and in ill success his shame, still urges him to some further enterprises.”
-Hannibal, speaking of Marcellus.
Plutarch, Lives.
CHAPTER 58
Two days after the execution of the Vestals, Marcellus and I left for Venusia with a recently recruited cohort of soldiers and the much needed additional cavalry. Marcellus made no mention of the Vestals’ incident. He was glad to be leaving Rome. I could see him relax as soon as her massive walls disappeared behind us.
With the cohort on foot and the officers on horseback,
the march took two weeks. Through much of it I thought about my mother. I had yet to tell anyone what I had discovered—not even Ithius, who had been so right about Paculla. And how could I tell Marcus or Marcellus? I told them I had learned of my mother’s death from Portia’s friend Aemilia. That had been a lie. Confessing to that meant revealing Portia’s cult—which didn’t seem such a bad thing—but that would only deepen the mess. I was angry and I felt like a fool. Was my mother really in Rome? Was she even a slave? I had no idea. The closure I had once felt had turned into a greater unknown, confounded by promises and lies.
Sempronia and her mother were also on my mind. My experience with Fulvia had been something much different than my one night with Moira. The image of Fulvia’s figure in silhouette, striding across the atrium in the moonlight, replayed over and over in my mind to the point of distraction. I could practically smell the myrrh on her neck. That Sempronia so closely resembled her mother only made it worse. I wished it had never happened. I’m sure I was just as relieved to leave Rome as Marcellus was.
Cornelius Lentulus and Furius Purpurio met our train at the camp gate. Marcellus almost smiled as he strode into the camp and absorbed the familiar feel of the military life he loved.
That night he called Asellus, his two legates, and all twelve tribunes to headquarters. The meeting began with reports on what had happened in the region while Marcellus had been gone. It had been quiet. Hannibal had remained in Tarentum the entire time. Training exercises had proceeded as ordered. Nothing had occurred out of the ordinary.
Marcellus followed with an overview of what he expected for the coming campaign.
“We’ll stay here and train until spring. Allied troops from Venusia and Brundisium will join us when we break camp. At that point, we’ll seek out Hannibal much as we did last summer. Fabius hopes to recapture Tarentum. Our objective will be to keep Hannibal occupied and away from Tarentum. Any questions?”
“Last summer, sir, was extremely hard on the soldiers,” said Purpurio, always a little on edge and willing to voice his concerns. “Are we really going after Hannibal or are we just going to play chase?”
The Death of Marcellus Page 30
